


Fictionally yours

by Notasmuch



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-23
Updated: 2011-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer, in specific conditions, can feel what other people feel. He's just not sure who(m) he's feeling right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fictionally yours

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Warning for not fully informed consent. More about this for the spoilerphobic in the end notes.  
> 2) More importantly, warning for the characters not addressing that part properly. More on this in the end notes too.

For as long as he could remember, Spencer knew more about people than he wanted to.

At this moment, he knows exactly where Ryan is, even though they haven't spoken in two weeks, he knows Brendon had an orgasm not five minutes ago (carefully ignored), he knows his sisters are having an argument, even though they are in different cities not only from him but from each other. He can feel their individual rage and knows it’s a misunderstanding and not anyone's fault really. He’ll call them later and tell them.

But right now, with the lights too low and the music too loud, he is noticing someone else, a bit of lust and a bit of admiration, some annoyance. Spencer knows his Thing (he refuses to call it power) only works when people he cares about actually want him to know things. It still sucks, but it’s better than just randomly catching people's feelings. It also gives him hope that some day Brendon might stop wanting to talk about his sex life and he will be free of random brain orgasms. It also tells him Ryan isn’t letting go.

This new person though, Spencer concentrates, they aren’t completely new. It’s a familiar calm, he felt it a few times during the years, maybe once every few months. Brief happiness, some sadness. One horrible moment when he wasn't sure if he should just pick up the phone and try to call the ambulance because the pain in his hand was excruciating and someone was feeling it in reality. He didn't, because "someone is in terrible pain but I can't tell you where" was likely to get him arrested.

Spencer looks around, trying to spot someone unexpected who would fall into the murky "cared about" category of his life, but there are too many people around.

He grabs his beer and goes over to the table, pushes around some to sit down between The Butcher and Ian.

"Where's Bren?" Ian asks.

"He'll be here in half an hour." Spencer knows, because Brendon is trying to "project," which is his word, not Spencer's, and is something Spencer keeps trying to explain _doesn't work_ because if anything, it feels like Brendon is on the toilet having a hard one. Spencer looks at his beer and realizes these days he mostly drinks to forget Brendon's life.

The evening is going well, even if the person is still around and Spencer can't find... him, Spencer's pretty sure it's a guy. Brendon finally comes, makes room next to Spencer and winks at him, completely undisturbed when Spencer rolls his eyes. Mostly they drink, talk about music, shit on the labels, whisper about who's fucking who and most importantly, why.

The Butcher just reaches that phase when he starts debating meaning of life when Spencer feels a pressure in his head, determination, more distracting than anything he felt before.

Then Carden stands up on his chair and waves at the crowd. "Bob fucking Bryar!"

Spencer freezes. Bob Bryar.

He manages to smile and nod his head but the buzzing in it is still too distracting. He tries to think, to remember when he first met Bob and how it went, what he said, tries to sort out a timeline but he doesn't really know anything but his own side. The only thing he knows for sure is that Bob is the guy in his head. Bob is the guy who... wanted him to know all those things? Why why why? His brain is stuck on a loop until Brendon presses a hand to his shoulder and Spencer can feel his worry on his skin and in his head and he grabs on to it, because even that is lighter than the freak-out happening in the other part of his head.  
And then it starts easing down, Brendon's thumb strokes his shoulder and Spencer starts to breathe. When his head is finally empty, he looks up to see Bob watching them.

He wants to run out and away, but he knows he can't really escape the part of him that matters, so he just leans into Brendon and smiles another fake smile at Bob.

He doesn't mind that it _is_ Bob Bryar. He's a good guy, and now that his head is clear Spencer can remember the first time they met. He remembers being impressed and wary, because Bob was just riding high with My Chem and Spencer wanted him to be a great guy as well as a great drummer but he knew the chances were slim. But he was. He was funny and careful and enthusiastic as Spencer when it came to his music. The calm vibe he got through the years makes sense now, it was exactly how Bob was in his memory.

The confusing part, the _weird_ part, is that Bob had to want Spencer to know. Which makes no sense. Bob certainly didn't randomly think about Spencer every few months wanting to tell him stories from his life. Maybe. Probably. But when Spencer checks, Bob is looking back again, even though Nick is talking to him.

\--

Spencer wishes he were a smoker. It would make standing in front of buildings so much more logical. There are a few people around, but barely anyone is looking in his direction, which is possibly the only reason to like back alleys of LA clubs.

The doors keep opening and closing and he waits for the moment just before they close, when the music gets distorted before it disappears. He tries to find rhythm in it so he doesn’t throw up. He didn't drink too much before Bob came, but after the panic in his head settled, he embraced the drunkenness.

 _Doors open._ Especially since he promised himself he would always tell people about his Thing if he started feeling them. _Doors close._

But he's usually closer to them; they are friends or family or lovers. Not just people Spencer has elaborate dirty and tame fantasies about.

Doors open. And why would Bob want to tell him anything anyway?

"Hey."

Spencer flinches with his whole body and knows his eyes are embarrassingly wide when he turns around.

"Um, hi."

Bob is standing there, puling a pack of smokes from his pocket, because of course he wouldn't be the creep just standing around for no reason. He offers one to him but Spencer just shakes his head.

"Catching some air?" Bob asks when his cigarette is lit.

It seems as good a lie as any. "Yeah. You?" Maybe Spencer gets lucky and just dies on the spot.

Bob points at his lips. Or, really, at his cigarette, but Spencer mostly just blinks and stares at his lips for a while thinking this wouldn't be a completely bad way to go.

The silence stretches, Bob leans against the wall, absolutely comfortable and Spencer feels happy. Happy, happy, maybe a bit too happy. He closes his eyes for a second to focus and yeah, there it is, not his happy at all. Just a whole lot of Bob's feelings he shouldn't be feeling so strongly at all.

Doors opening again breaks the silence and he realizes he lost count.

"I hate this song."

Spencer smiles. "Yeah. No drums."

He thinks he can feel Bob's laughter in his chest.

He needs to tell the truth, he knows that. It's an incredible invasion of privacy and people need to be able to stop it. But he only met Bob once before and knows nothing about the Real him. And Bob has no reason to trust him.

"I don't even know how they make music without drums," he says instead

"They just think it's music."

They smirk together and this time the happiness he feels is definitely his.

\--

Bob's breath is hot against his neck, one hand firm on Spencer's hip. Spencer's bedroom is dark and they are both sweaty and noisy and fast, all elegance and pretense forgotten as their fists tangle against each other. Both grips are a bit too hard and they hiss and laugh together before Bob's thumb slides up against the head of Spencer's cock and Spencer presses down and they forget why they were laughing at all.

Bob comes pushing up at Spencer with a quiet groan and a sharp bite on his own lip. Spencer leans forward to lick the marks away and it makes Bob's fist brush aginst just the right spot. He grabs Bob's hand and ruts against it shamelessly until he spills over both of them and just falls off, boneless.

He feels both of their relaxed pleasures drumming through him. It's not new, but it is - Spencer hates even thinking it - special.

He feels fingers brush against his arm and opens his eyes. Bob is smiling at him and Spencer smiles back before guilt hits him. Haley's lessons of unfair advantage stuck hard, though apparently not hard enough. Though, he's never been in this particular situation, so maybe even she would forgive him. But not if he wants this to be more than a one night stand.

He reaches down from the bed for his shirt and rubs them both relatively clean.

"Thanks," Bob mumbles, and Spencer decides to put the conversation off until they've rested. There's always time for a disaster later.

\--

When he wakes up the sun is high and his phone is buzzing. He ignores it to go brush his teeth and find where he left his pants. By the time he comes back, Bob is stretching and trying to hide from the sun at the same time and Spencer's heart pings a little "adorable" at him. It's harder to ignore than the phone.

He plays the good host and lets Bob shower, makes him coffee and doesn't speak until morning grumpiness is gone from both of them.

Then it's time to forget it all and let Bob leave or suck it up and try. "We need to talk."

"Ouch, are we breaking up already?"

Spencer smiles but his fear must show because Bob suddenly looks weary. He points for Bob to sit on the couch and takes the chair himself. He knows closeness isn't what people want right after he tells them.

"You ever have your mom call you to say she had a bad feeling and she wanted to know how you were doing?"

"My... mom?"

Spencer nods.

"That's your morning-after talk?"

"Just answer," he rolls his eyes.

"Okay, yeah, I suppose she did."

"Was she ever right?"

"Once." Bob scratches his scar quickly but Spencer notices, remembers the pain he felt a while back and puts it into context.

"Oh." He shakes his head to chase the useless thought away. There'll be time for that later. "Well," and, Spencer's been through it before, ten times at least, but every time is a whole new shade of dread, "I'm a bit like that. I can sometimes feel what other people feel. Not like mind reading, not like mind control, not always and not with everyone."

He pauses to let Bob think. He doesn't feel anything coming at him at that point, which is pretty normal, and Bob looks like Spencer is telling him he reads future in tea leafs, which is also normal.

"I wouldn't tell you this," _normally_ , Spencer thinks, and wants to set the word on fire, "but I've been catching some of your feelings, so, I thought you should know."

"You do know I'm not gonna post your address online if you don't call me, right?" Bob says.

"What?"

"I mean, you can lose my number, never call, it's okay. You don't need to scare me away. I did tour with Bert, it's not like anything much scares me any more."

"It's not..." Spencer scratches his beard. There's a reason this conversation is meant for friends and family. "I'm not making this shit up. I like you. I want to call you. Have a proper date, way more sex with way less beer. But it's not fair if I know so much about you."

"Like what?"

"What do I know?"

Bob nods.

"I knew you wanted me yesterday before anything happened. Which, I guess doesn't say much. But I also know you like me way more than just for sex. You have since the first time we met. You jerked off thinking about me at least once. You wanted to tell me or talk to me or something when you had your surgery. I don't know much else, but I felt you a few times through the years, random stuff. But if we were together more, I would pick up more."

He shivers at first stirrings of anger. It's an uncomfortable emotion to handle when directed at him.

"So you just pick up random shit that people feel?"

"Not exactly, I..."

"Then what, exactly." Bob's jaw is tight and Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He hates being honest with people who are about to tell him to go fuck himself.

"I have to care for you. You have to want me to know."

Anger flares higher.

"I didn't want you to know." It's not exactly a shout, but it's louder, stronger, even harsher in Spencer's head.

And the first part of what he said is ignored.

"You did. Maybe you didn't want to tell me, but just, wished I would know without anyone saying anything. Well, congrats, wish fulfilled." He knows it's a shitty thing to say but it's hard to work through Bob's annoyance running around his head. "Like, now, I'm not angry, I'm _sorry_ that I do this thing that I have no control over but you're pissed and you want me to know you're pissed so I fucking feel it and I can't stop snapping at you!" Fuck. He rubs his face and feels the anger turn into shock and fear and then disappear as if someone flipped a switch. Yeah, that's more like it.

When he looks between his fingers, he can see Bob is pale and leaning as far from him as possible, without actually running away.

"I had to tell you, because it's not fair to you. I should have told you yesterday but..." Spencer thinks of what he can possibly say that doesn't sound like _I've been pining for you for three years_ but nothing comes to mind. "I was selfish."

Bob taps his fingers against his thigh and shakes his head. "No."

"No?"

"No, it wasn't selfish. It's not like I was trying to be subtle yesterday."

"I guess. Still. Unfair advantage and all."

"Well, if that's how you knew about the neck thing..."

Spencer blushes and Bob smiles for a second but then he's serious and closed off again.

"So, you believe me?" He has to know.

"I believe you believe it."

Spencer snorts. "That's really not the best result."

"Yeah, well."

Spencer knows, he knows exactly what will happen next and he doesn't need special powers for that. There's awkward silence for a long time, and when they do talk Bob is polite, painfully so. He's closed so tight that nothing is showing even on his face and even when Spencer asks him not to tell anyone he just nods. He says he'll call when he thinks about it and then he's out before his sneakers are fully on his feet.

\--

Bob doesn't call. Spencer keeps on living. He finally talks to Ryan, has dinner with Jon. Brendon comes up with ten sounds he likes and abandons them all for something new and better. They talk to Dallon about touring even though they have nothing to tour with and talk to Pete about the new album even though there might never be one.

He wants to think of Bob as something that could have been, but he can't because his Fantasy Bob seems to be avoiding him too, so he’s stuck with thinking about past, repeating their conversation over and over again until he finds something else to do or falls asleep.  
He doesn't think it would have been the greatest love story ever told, but certainly something amazing, worth building.

\--

The stick he threw at Brendon just hits its mark the first time he feels it.

 _Joy, joy, joy, panic_ end. He sits down, tries to concentrate, to see if there's more, wishing for the first time in his life that he could trace it back to the source.

He lets it go. Too "skeptical" to hope, because scared is such an ugly word.

But two days later, while he's sorting his socks, it happens again. Completely controlled, not overwhelming, just a careful trickle of what Spencer assumes is curiosity but all he really gets is confusion.

"Still not mind-reading," he mumbles and pushes the socks away.

Then there's a burst of frustration and it's over.

He lets it happen two more times before he gives up and calls Brendon. The next time he feels it, he's ready.

"Hello?" Bob's voice is careful.

"Trying to prove something?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"So you really just...?"

"Yep."

"Right."

"Great conversation."

Bob chokes and starts laughing on the other side. "I can't believe it."

"But do you?"

"I..." the pause is longer than Spencer wants it to be, but in the end - _I believe_ you - is worth it.

"So, now," Spencer pauses.

"Do you, um, do you want to go out, some time? If you're not seeing anybody I mean. I know it's been two months but you did call so, I guess that means you still care."

So Bob did hear that part. "Yeah, I would like that." He smiles until the power of Bob's happiness washes over him and before he can think about it he says "Oh, wow."

"Sorry."

"No, I like it."

"Weird."

"Yeah."

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Basically, Spencer knows how Bob feels and Bob doesn't know it.  
> 2) The characters both only gloss over it, giving themselves and each other excuses.


End file.
